Good Night

Some time around the middle of August, we'll probably be tired of the Summer, because that's the way we are. But right now, it's back to kid-hood as far as I'm concerned. Lazy, crazy, hazy days...fireworks, beautiful girls on the beach...wow.

Some life lessons about women in this podcast too. I told you about this a couple of years ago...but I just love it. And I'm taking a couple of weeks off for some doctor stuff, so I thought I'd tell you about it again.

My Lady Wonder Wench's family is Polish. I was sitting in the examination chair in the eye doctor's chair today, and he said read the third line from the bottom. I swear it spelled out the name of one of her Polish cousins. At least the letters I could see spelled out the name of one of her cousins. I missed some of the letters. Which made me stop and think about what I said in my book, Staying Happy, Healthy And Hot about the gratitude-attitude.

I'm glad I could see some of the letters. Even ones that were smaller than the Goodyear Blimp or your average NFL linebacker. And something the doctor said got me started thinking about eyes, and the things we see...and the things that are sitting there in plain sight, but we don't usually see them.

It's early Summer. My favorite time of the year.

Summer is a woman...hot, sexy, wild, hazy, soft, flashy, dangerous when wet, full of laughs, tears, stings and bites, endlessly beautiful, satin smooth, fragrant, promising, crushing...changeable.

Summer has stars in her night eyes, with thunder and crickets, and little lover bugs flashing tiny lights hoping to find some little lover bug passion. I love the sand between the toes, and the surf in Summer's song. She has flowers and newly cut grass for perfume, and sweating, flexing naked passion in her nights.

This is part 2 of our SEVENTH YEAR ANNIVERSARY. It involves the top five downloaded stories this year from the Personal Audio CDs. Also a heavy duty note from Proud Podcast Participant Sgt. Tom...who I think...probably stopped talking to yell at his dog while recording his phone machine message.

I've been sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair, doing these podcasts for six years as of this month. Actually, I haven't been actually just sitting in this chair for six years. I have occasionally gotten up for potty breaks, snacks and several other physically and emotionally functional reasons. But this month is our seventh anniversary of the Good Night podcasts, and the Dick Summer Connection blogs.

Before we pop the cork on our beginning of the 7th year celebration, I want to thank you for giving me a few minutes of your valuable time again this year. Thank you if you've just joined us. And thank you if you've been a part of our "Huddle" from the beginning. Maybe all the way back to the radio days.

It's so comfortable sitting here in by big, manly, black leather poppa chair, after spending the last six hours hanging on to the cup holder in my Lady Wonder Wench's car with my seat belt tightened to the tourniquet setting, as she went careening down the highway, making James Bond skidding hand brake turns, and hurling great Polish curses at the other drivers...one of whom must have lost control of his car as he was zooming down the breakdown lane, because his car swerved back on to the highway right in front of us at about 85 MPH. I estimate that he must have been getting about 20 miles to the fender. It was a long drive back home from a visit with my brother John and his wife Beth down in South Carolina.

It's good to get off my feet...sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. Tired feet are a problem for Louie Louie Generation guys like me. Getting off them is obviously a good first step...ditching shoes is good...soaking them in a shower...good stuff. But I found the best way to fix feet is with my head. I've found that's also a good way to deal with defeat.

Feet and defeat. I take a minute...close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, and think about walking in soft sand, bright warm sunlight on my skin, gentle sea breeze...and I'm walking over to a beach blanket where my Lady Wonder Wench is waiting in her bikini, with a bottle of hand warmed lotion to give me a massage that starts at my feet, and keeps on going, and going and going. My feet usually just kind of forget they hurt. And nothing can defeat me.

The Boston bomber gave us a gift. Fear. It was a little like 9-11...the kind of day when you wake up screaming, then you realize you were never asleep. You'll always remember where you were and what you were doing when you heard about terrible things. Like when the first plane went into the World Trade Tower on 9-11. Let me go sit down in my comfortable, big, manly black leather poppa chair...before I fall down. Just thinking about it makes me feel like I've swallowed a sack of cement, and it's beginning to harden.

Do you ever wonder what goes on behind the scenes at a radio station when terrible things like that happen? Let me tell you a personal story.

I think I'll be remembering tomorrow for a very long time. Let me grab my seat here in my comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair and I'll tell you about it. Once upon a time, a long time ago...so long ago that as a matter of fact it was during the original reign of the Louie Louie Generation...Louie Louie was still all over the radio...my Lady Wonder Wench gave me a wonderful yesterday to remember.

It was one night when we were first dating. She was driving...we went through a toll booth...it was late...she had on shorts and a slightly sexy top...which on her is anything less than an iron shirt...nor ironed...iron. You've heard her voice. And the rest of her looks like she sounds. We came to a toll booth, and she looked up at the toll taker...a young guy with a heavy metal station playing in the booth...she smiled sweetly and said, "My you look so lonely."

I thought he was going to drop his eyes, his teeth, and his badge. You could hear his glands crashing into each other. His tattoos were actually shaking when he handed her some change. She smiled again, and we were off. She did that kind of thing all the time. She created testosterone tsunamis wherever she went. She still does, all these years later.

This was one of those days...when you've just got to sit in your big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in your living room, and hang on tight. "Women don't need sex like men do"...that's what my Lady Wonder Wench said today. After decades of being together, she waits till now to tell me this.

I'm an experienced, Louie Louie Generation guy. I know I should have kept my mouth shut, but that little guy in the back of my brain who's supposed to keep control of things like my mouth and other things must have been on his lunch break...so I couldn't help myself. I said, "huh?"